Page 4 of A Temptress in Tartan

Instead of trying to engage her in conversation while the palace’s servants regaled them with a repast of bread, fruit, oats, fish, boar, and wine, Lachlan simply watched her with an occasional tug of his lips.

When she could stand it no longer, she faced him fully and asked, “Have you nothing to say?”

“What would you have me say? Should I ask after your comfort? Do you require refreshment other than what is before you?” he asked in an accommodating tone that only fired her ire.

She drew a tight breath. “I require nothing other than to be released from what has been forced on me.”

“Nothing was forced on either of us. We both willingly agreed to this arrangement.” He frowned. “Unless you consider my persuading you to change your mind yesterday coercion.”

Heat came to her cheeks at the memory of her momentary weakness. “Nay,” she replied, feeling some of her anxiety drain away. “I am glad you stopped me from making a mistake. While I am not pleased to be your wife, I am better off alive as you so righteously pointed out in the midst of yesterday’s drama.”

Lachlan leaned back in his chair. “Is that a thank you I heard jumbled up in all of those words?”

Elizabeth’s cheeks flamed. Why did he have to be so annoying? “Aye.”

“Aye, what?” He frowned. “I might believe you were sincere if you actually said the words.”

The heat in her cheeks reached a searing level as she brought her gaze to his. “Thank you for interfering in my life yesterday.”

His lips pulled up in a half smile that brought out the dimple in his right cheek. “Since that is all I am likely to get from you, I will take it.” He paused. “You are welcome.”

That dimple did strange things to her insides. With an effort, Elizabeth pulled her gaze away and added, “Do not interfere in my life again. I will not thank you next time.”

He laughed. “My dearest wife, I intend to interfere in your life every single day until death do we part. And as I promised your father, that death will be of natural causes many years from now.”

The great hall hummed with conversation and laughter from those gathered to celebrate their joining. The joviality of the guests was a sharp contrast to the bleakness in Elizabeth’s heart. “You intend to put up with me for that long?”

Lachlan’s eyes were intent on hers, his face solemn. “I will consider it a challenge and an honor.”

Elizabeth’s mouth went dry. “How can you say such? I am your enemy.”

“You are my wife.”

Elizabeth set her fork down after a few bites. “You think after decades of fighting it will all simply vanish because we are now wed?”

Lachlan’s gaze connected with hers. A flash of memory sparked. There was something so familiar about those eyes. She remembered those eyes from a time in her past—long before those moments on the cliff.

His gaze narrowed on her and the memory slipped away. “This feud between the Ruthvens and the Douglases started before either of us were born,” Lachlan said. “I was caught up in the bloodshed fourteen years ago with my parents’ deaths. I’ve already lost everything, Elizabeth. What more can the Ruthvens take from me . . . unless we have a child?”

A slow flush crept up her neck as her thoughts suddenly turned toward other things. Until that moment she had forgotten all about what came next. The marriage bed. She eyed him uncertainly now, rubbing her suddenly damp palms on the fabric of her gown, her heart thudding. “My laird, you cannot, we cannot . . .” Her stomach tightened at the thought of bedding her husband.

“What is it, Elizabeth? Are you afraid of what happens between a husband and wife?”

She sucked in a breath, afraid now to say what she must. She looked away, and gathering her courage, blurted out, “They might have forced me to marry you, but I will not rut with you. I will not give you bairns.”

All around them the room suddenly silenced and all eyes turned their way. The king stood abruptly; his features suddenly dark. “What is this?” His voice was fierce. “You will bear a child with this man. I command it.”

Elizabeth stood and squared her shoulders. “I mean you no disrespect, Your Grace, but this is not something you can command. If it were, there would be a babe in your own arms by now.”

A collective gasp sounded all around her.

The queen’s cheeks turned scarlet. The king’s eyes blazed as he came toward her. He raised his hand to strike. “How dare you. You’ll pay for that—”

Lachlan shot to his feet. “Stop, Your Grace.” His voice held steely menace. “It does not serve you to lose your temper.”

The king stopped and drew a sharp breath as his furious gaze moved from Lachlan to Elizabeth. He dropped his hand and took a step back as his anger ebbed. Finally, once more in control, he raised his chin and said, “The queen and I thought perhaps we were doing something great for Scotland by joining your two families. But now I wonder if we were foolish, or even a little mad to think such an act might solve this problem.”

“Only time will tell,” Lachlan replied in a flat tone.